Page 27 of Nansar
Heat flooded my cheeks, burning like wildfire. Of all the embarrassing moments to have with an alien warrior who'd just saved my life...
"I... I had to pee," I mumbled into his chest, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
The silence that followed made me want to sink into the earth and disappear forever. Then I felt it—the slight tremor that ran through his body, starting in his chest and radiating outward like ripples on water.
"You had to...?" He cleared his throat, and I could hear the amusement threading through his voice despite his obvious attempt to remain serious and respectful.
"It's not funny!" I protested, pulling back just enough to glare at him, though the effect was probably ruined by my burning red face and the mortification written across every feature. "I really had to go, and I didn't want to do it where we were sleeping!"
His lips twitched, fighting a smile that threatened to break through his composure. "No, no, of course not. That would be... improper." But his eyes were dancing with mirth, some of the darkness that had clouded them since the attack finally lifting like morning fog.
Despite the fear, the close call, the trembling that still hadn't quite left my limbs, I felt my own lips curve slightly. "Are you laughing at me?"
"I would never," he said solemnly, but the warmth in his expression betrayed him completely. Then, more gently, his voice dropping to something tender: "Though perhaps next time, you might tell me when you need to... step away. I can keep watch. Keep you safe."
The way he said it, so earnest and protective, made something in my chest squeeze tight, like a fist closing around my heart.
"Okay," I whispered, the word barely more than breath. "Next time."
He nodded once, satisfied, and drew me back against the solid wall of his chest. "Good."
I didn't hate this. Being held by him. When the other guys had grabbed me, I'd come apart at the seams—thrashing, clawing, fighting like something feral. Every touch had been a trigger, every grip a ghost of Declan's hands on my skin. My body remembered the violence even when my mind tried to forget.
But Nansar? His touch was different. It didn't demand or take. It offered. Sheltered. Like being wrapped in something that asked for nothing in return except permission to stay.
I let myself melt into him. His warmth wasn't aggressive—it was patient, seeping into my bones like sunlight through winter clouds. He didn't crowd me or cage me. He just... held me. Present. Solid. Real.
Safe.
The word whispered through my mind like something precious and fragile, a concept I'd almost forgotten existed outside of locked doors and loaded weapons.
We sat outside the copse of trees, bathed in the glow of an alien sun that kissed my skin with surprising gentleness. Starfield grazed a few yards away, her contentment palpable in every lazy swish of her tail, the rhythmic tearing of grass a lullaby. Nansar's arms remained a fortress around me, and then his hand—that large, careful hand—began threading through my hair with a tenderness that made my breath catch.
The silence wrapped around us like a blanket, comfortable and unhurried. Like time itself had decided to pause, just for us.
His fingers found a tangle and worked through it with infinite patience, never pulling, never rushing.
"Do you want to tell me what happened to you?"
The question drifted through the air like dandelion seeds—soft, weightless, easily dismissed if I chose. His voice carried no expectation, no demand. Just an invitation, whispered so quietly I almost mistook it for the breeze itself.
My body went rigid on instinct, every defense mechanism I'd built over the past months snapping into place. Deflect. Shut down. Lock it away where it couldn't hurt me. But his hand never faltered in its gentle journey through my hair, and he simply held me, patient as stone, as if he had all the time in the universe to wait.
I closed my eyes. Drew in a breath that shuddered through my lungs like broken glass.
Maybe it was time. Maybe carrying this alone was killing me slower than any wound ever could.
"I was FBI." The words scraped out of me, rough and small, like I'd forgotten how to use my voice. "Assigned to a trafficking case."
"FBI?" Curiosity colored his tone, but it remained gentle, careful not to spook me.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation. Law enforcement." I swallowed hard. "I was supposed to protect people. Stop bad things from happening to them."
His hand traced another soothing path through my hair, a silent encouragement that asked for nothing but offered everything.
"I'd been working a human trafficking case for months. Chasing shadows, dead ends, lies upon lies. Then finally—finally—I found someone on the inside who trusted me enough to talk." The memory tasted bitter. "He told me to check out a house off the coast of Florida. Said there was something there I needed to see. Something that would blow the whole operation wide open."
My throat worked against the lump forming there, and my hands found Nansar's shoulders, gripping like he was the only solid thing in a world that had tilted sideways.
